All I Got and All I Want
by Zane Twist
Summary: AU. August 1971. Ennis and Jack are ranched up on their small spread near Signal. Ennis has been having nightmares.
1. Chapter 1

5

**All I Got and All I Want: Chapter 1**

By Zane Twist

**Alternative Universe:**

_At their reunion in 1967, Ennis del Mar admitted that he should never have left Jack Twist out of his sights when they came down off Brokeback Mountain in August of 1963. After a dark night of soul-searching, Ennis agreed to ranch up with Jack. However, it took nearly three difficult years for their plans to come together, years that tested both their determination and their relationship. Both men divorced their wives, and, as Jack had anticipated, his father-in-law readily gave him a substantial sum of money to disappear, on condition that he have no further contact with the Newsome family, including Jack's own baby son. With L.D. Newsome's money behind them, they were able to convince a bank in Riverton to finance their purchase of a small, rundown spread outside Signal, where they set up the little cow and calf operation of Jack's dreams._

_(For additional stories in this AU, see "No Hero" and "Sayin' 'I Do.'"—Z.T.)_

August 1971

It was a warm evening in early August. The sun was still high, though it was steadily sinking toward the Wind River Mountains, to the west of the ranch. Ennis sat on the front porch floor, back against a post, one leg comfortably bent up at the knee, the other dangling over the edge of the porch. His shirt was open, the sleeves rolled up, to enjoy the warm evening breeze. Soon enough the summer weather would be replaced by the bleakness and cold of a Northern Plains winter. He exhaled the last smoke of his cigarette, stubbed the butt out on the porch floor.

He turned and looked out over the long, sloping pasture between the log-cabin ranch house and the road, and on to the pasture on the other side of the highway. It was pleasant to see the small remuda of horses grazing placidly between the house and the road—Jack's buckskin mare, Cheyenne, and his own chestnut stallion, Arapaho, among the others—and the small herd of Hereford cows and calves in the far pasture. The stock was all healthy, the new calves growing and thriving. It looked like it was going to be a good year. Ennis was satisfied.

He and Jack had owned the spread for not much more than a year. They had done a lot of work on the place, and there was still much to do. Despite the money from Jack's former father-in-law that they had used as a down payment, the ranch was mortgaged to the hilt and they were in debt up to their eyeballs. Probably it had only been old L.D. Newsome's willingness to "invest" in the ranch that had convinced the bank over in Riverton to give them the loans they needed to set up their cow and calf operation.

Aside from the work needed to set up the ranching operation, they had also done a great deal of work on the house. The old cabin now had a roof that kept out the rain, and the installation of electricity eliminated their reliance on kerosene and batteries for lighting. Also, they had replaced the old woodstove in the kitchen with a new gas range, fueled by liquid propane. They had completed the addition to the house that would become a bathroom; over the winter, when the ranch work was slow, they hoped to install the plumbing fixtures. Although it seemed they were eating a lot of canned beans and store-brand macaroni and cheese to make ends meet, still, they were getting by, and Ennis found he was actually enjoying himself working side by side with Jack every day.

On this evening it had been Ennis's turn to fix supper, so Jack was handling cleanup. Ennis's contemplation of the cattle in the far pasture was broken by the sound of the screen door opening. He looked up as Jack came through the door, a longneck in each hand. He handed one to Ennis, who smiled his thanks, tipped the bottle in salute to Jack, then took a swig of beer. Jack sat down on the porch by Ennis's booted foot, facing out toward the pasture. It had been warm in the kitchen, cleaning up after supper. Jack had his shirt open and untucked, the sleeves rolled up above his biceps.

As Jack sipped his beer, Ennis contemplated his partner's profile. He admired the fine, strong line of the nose, the delicate curve of the upper lip, the strong chin, the eyes startlingly blue against their frame of dark lashes and the tan of the face, the torso, glowing with the heat, sculpted from years of hard work, the trail of hair leading from the navel downward to where it disappeared into the waistline of Jack's jeans. As he studied his partner, Ennis unexpectedly felt a lump form in his throat. Jack felt himself stared at, turned and looked at Ennis. "What?" he said.

Embarrassed as always at being caught staring at Jack, Ennis momentarily glanced away. Before that lump in his throat could dissolve into tears, however, he reached over and took Jack by the arm. "C'mere," he said simply. Jack smiled, hoisted himself up, swung around, and settled in between Ennis's legs, the hard globes of his buttocks pressed against Ennis's crotch. Ennis kept an arm around Jack's waist, held him close. Jack leaned back against Ennis's chest, and they sipped their beers in comfortable and companionable silence. Ennis drained his beer, set the empty bottle on the porch. He rested his chin on Jack's shoulder, inhaled the musky, sweaty, slightly sweet scent of Jack.

Jack, for his part, felt himself grow drowsy, safe in the embrace of Ennis's strong, sinewy arms. He smiled, thought to himself how happy he was to be building a life with Ennis. Though his back was toward Ennis, in his mind he could see Ennis's moist brown eyes, the wide mouth that could make Ennis look like a mischievous little boy who was up to something when he smiled. Jack wanted it to be just like this, here on the porch this summer evening, always.

Just as Jack was about to doze off, Ennis spoke.

"Jack?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Sure."

"You ever had a dream where it was like somethin' was after you, and you try to run, but you can't move your feet, like they're stuck in cement, or somethin'?"

"Is that what's been goin' on?" Jack asked.

"You know?" Ennis was surprised.

"Woke me up twice last week, thrashin' around in bed, and once this week already."

"And you didn't say nothin'?"

"Figured you'd tell me about it when you was ready."

Ennis leaned back against the porch post, and Jack reclined farther back against Ennis's chest. Ennis was quiet for a few minutes. Jack's sensitivity always amazed him. Then he began to speak.

"You remember a couple a weeks ago when we went into town? You got a haircut and I went into Sorenson's to pay the feed bill?"

"Sure enough."

"Well, when I went into Sorenson's, there was about a dozen guys in there, just standin' around chewin' the fat, and soon's I walked in, the whole place got real quiet-like."

"So?"

"'So'? They all just stopped talkin' as soon as I walked in. They was all just standin' there lookin' at me."

Jack sat up, turned so that he could look at Ennis. "Yeah, 'so.' So what? Somebody walks in a room, it's natural to stop what you're doin' to see who it is."

Ennis was doubtful. "Yeah, well, nobody said anything the whole time I was in there 'cept Joe Sorenson while I was payin' him. Then when I was done payin' the bill and went back out on the street, just as I was pullin' the door shut, I heard some of 'em laughin'."

"Is that what's been botherin' you?"

"Well, I started havin' this dream a little while after that," Ennis admitted.

"That some _body_ or some _thing_ is comin' after you, and you can't run?"

"Well, no." Ennis looked uneasy.

"Well, then, what _do_ you mean, Ennis?"

Ennis didn't answer right away. When he did, he spoke slowly and deliberately, looking Jack directly in the eye. "In my dream," he said, "it's not _me_ that somethin's after. It's _you._"

"_Me_?" Jack was astonished.

"You. It's awful, Jack," Ennis said, his voice getting thick. "I can hear you yellin', like you're hurtin' real bad, and I'm tryin' a get to you, to help you, and I can't move." When he finished, his eyes were moist. He looked stricken. He turned away to stare off into the distance. "I'm tryin' a help you, and I can't move, …" he repeated, his voice trailing off.

"Aw, Ennis," Jack said. Reaching up with his right hand, he gently stroked Ennis's left cheek. "Ennis," Jack said quietly. "It's just a dream. It's just a bad dream, that's all."

Turning, Ennis reached up and took Jack's hand in his own. "Jack? You remember that story I told you when you first come back to Wyomin'? 'Bout Earl?"

"The guy your daddy showed you? The one that was beat to death with a tire iron? Sure, who could forget it? Why?"

Ennis leaned forward. Jack thought that he hadn't looked so serious since he agreed they should ranch up together. He took Jack's other hand in his, holding his partner by both hands. "Jack, I want you to promise me somethin'."

"Sure enough, Ennis. What?"

"I want you to promise me not to never go off by yourself, without me. Not into town, not off on the ranch here some place. Not nowhere. Promise me?"

"Ennis, that's crazy! Just because you been havin' a bad dream?"

"Please, Jack? Please promise me?" Ennis was becoming visibly upset.

"Ennis—"

Ennis cut him off. "Jack! Please promise me?" he repeated. Then, "If anything happened to you, I don't hardly know what I'd do. I couldn't hardly stand it." Ennis's voice was hoarse. "You're all I got, Jack. …"

Ordinarily never at a loss for words, Jack was speechless now. Ennis had never spoken like that to him before. He stared at his partner for some moments. Before he found his voice, he stood up; Ennis let go of his arms. Jack reached down, pulled Ennis to his feet, hugged him fiercely.

"Ennis, Ennis," he murmured quietly. "It's just a bad dream. Ain't nothin' goin' a happen to me."

His face hidden in Jack's neck, his voice muffled, Ennis repeated yet again, "Please, Jack, promise me?" Jack could feel him shaking a little. Leaning back, he looked in Ennis's eyes. He could see tears.

"All right," Jack said quietly. "If it'll make you feel better, I promise."

Now it was Ennis's turn to hug Jack fiercely, protectively. Jack heard him repeat, "If anything happened to you, I couldn't hardly stand it. You're all I got."

"It's all right, Ennis," Jack murmured. "You're all I got, too, cowboy. And all I want."

They stood for some minutes, quietly embracing. Then Jack sighed. Ennis looked at him, and Jack repeated, "Ain't nothin' goin' a happen to me." Then, he grinned at Ennis a little mischievously. "But I'll tell you what, cowboy," he purred. "You don't fuck me right this minute, goin' a be _me_ gets after _you_ with a tire iron."

Slowly a grin spread across Ennis's face. The nightmare was forgotten. Laughing, Jack turned abruptly and raced for the door, heading for the bedroom. Ennis was right on his heels. They left their empty beer bottles on the porch. The screen door banged shut behind them.

(To be continued. …)


	2. Chapter 2

5

**All I Got and All I Want: Chapter 2**

By Zane Twist

Several weeks after Ennis's confession about his nightmares, on the Saturday night of Labor Day weekend, he and Jack smartened up and headed out to the Silver Spur for supper. Jack put on his favorite red shirt, Ennis his white shirt with the wide black stripes. Jack always smiled when he saw Ennis in that shirt. Ennis had worn it on that fateful day in June of '67 when Jack had showed up on Ennis's doorstep in Riverton, four years after they had spent the summer herding sheep on Brokeback Mountain.

By this Labor Day weekend, supper at the Silver Spur had become something of a regular event in their life. They had first gone to the bar and restaurant one Saturday evening in the spring. The day before, as they finished supper, Jack had put down his fork, looked Ennis in the eye, and said in no uncertain terms, "Ennis, if I have to eat one more supper of beans and macaroni and cheese, I'm goin' a puke my guts out." He had added, "We been workin' hard, Ennis. We deserve a little fun, a good meal." Ennis, ever practical, had been reluctant, seeing the expense of a night out as unnecessary, but Jack had a way of looking at him that always got around Ennis, and in the end he agreed that Jack was right, that if they didn't get off the place from time to time they would drive each other crazy. The Silver Spur had the reputation for having the best steaks in Signal, and at a reasonable price, so they scraped together enough loose cash and headed on over to the bar.

There wasn't anything special about the Silver Spur. It was just a typical small town bar and restaurant on the outskirts of Signal. When you walked in from the parking lot you first entered a small vestibule. From the vestibule you stepped into the main room. The bar was across the room from the entrance. To the right was a small area with a jukebox that could be used as a dance floor. There was also a small stage for the infrequent evenings when the bar had live music. Farther back, and closer to the bar, stood two pool tables. To the left was the dining room, with booths made of heavy dark wood along the walls and about a dozen tables arranged in two rows in the center.

Signal was a small town. Everybody knew everybody, everybody talked, and everybody had heard about the two young divorced guys who had bought the old Barkley place out on the Dubois road and were living together, just the two of them, in the old ranch house. When Ennis and Jack appeared in the doorway that Saturday night in April the noise level in the room dropped noticeably. Ennis, in the lead, stopped so abruptly that Jack walked into him. Jack saw Ennis's back stiffen in response to the faces staring at him, some hostile, others merely curious, none particularly friendly or welcoming.

Before Ennis had a chance to do anything, Jack took matters into his own hands. He sidestepped around Ennis, strode across the room to the bar, ordered two beers, and tipped Frankie the bartender generously—a piece of information that Frankie made sure to share later that evening with the bar back and with the bar's owner, old Pete Broughan. Ennis had no alternative but to swallow hard and follow Jack to the bar and accept the longneck that Jack, grinning, handed to him. They stood at the bar, drinking their beer, and gradually the noise level in the room rose back up to its usual level. Nobody talked to them, but also nobody bothered them, though some folks were less than discreet in their squinty-eyed curiosity about the two newcomers to the bar. Ennis and Jack put their names on the list for the dining room, and before very long they were seated at a table, covered with a red and white checked vinyl tablecloth, with a candle in a yellow glass jar, an ash tray, a set of salt and pepper shakers, and a small bowl holding paper packets of sugar and artificial sweetener.

Annie Price was their waitress that evening. In her mid twenties, with short blond hair and glasses, she was a single mother of a young daughter doing her best to make ends meet. After the bar closed that night, she shared with the other waitresses and the bus boys that the two guys who were ranched up on the old Barkley place had been unfailingly polite to her, saying "please" and "thank you," calling her "ma'am," and tipping her very well for their two steak dinners. She had heard the rumors, she said, and whether those boys were queer or not, she didn't know, but they had behaved themselves just like ordinary folks to her.

By Labor Day weekend, then, Ennis and Jack had been to the Silver Spur just often enough that most people ignored them, though one or two still glared at them when they entered. They couldn't know that a couple of the regular customers had complained to Pete Broughan about him tolerating those reputed queers in his establishment. Old Pete, however, was mindful that the boys from the Barkley place treated his bartenders and waitresses well. He just said that as long as they behaved themselves and didn't act queer in his place—whatever acting queer was, Pete wasn't really clear—well, then, their money was as green as anybody else's. The complainers took offense at that answer, but in the end nobody stopped coming to the Silver Spur because Ennis and Jack were served.

The joint was jumping on the holiday weekend. Soon enough, the unrelenting cold and dreariness of a Wyoming winter would settle in—already there had been a hint of frost some mornings and a dusting of snow visible on the high mountain peaks of the Wind Rivers—so a lot of folks were out that night for one last hurrah of the summer season. Ennis and Jack had to wait a half an hour for a table. They stood quietly at the bar, drinking their beer, until the hostess called them. They had Annie Price as their waitress again that evening. Jack, affable as usual, said, "Hey, Annie, how are you? And how's Katie?" he added, referring to Annie's small daughter.

"Just fine, thanks," Annie replied, smiling, as she handed them their menus—a somewhat pointless gesture, since she had waited on them often enough since the spring to know that their orders never varied. "Katie's real excited 'bout startin' first grade," she added, answering Jack's question. "She says that now she's graduated kindergarten, she's not a little kid any more." At that, Jack laughed, and even Ennis, who was still not really comfortable in the place, had to smile, thinking of his own daughters.

"You boys need to look at those menus, or you know what you're goin' a have?" Annie asked.

Jack put down his menu. "Well, you know, Annie, I'll have the t-bone, done—"

Annie interrupted and continued, "Rare, baked potato with sour cream, ranch dressin' on the salad." When she finished, she looked at Jack with a raised eyebrow and a suppressed grin.

Jack stared at her for a minute, then he laughed. "Dang, am I that predictable?"

"Same every time," Annie laughed. Then she turned to Ennis. "And you'll have the same 'cept extra butter 'stead of sour cream?"

Ennis smiled at her, laid his menu on the table. "Sure enough," he said.

Annie collected the menus. "Be right back with the salads," she said, smiling and heading off to put in their order.

A they waited for their salads, the hostess brought a group of four men to the next table. Of assorted sizes and shapes, they looked to Ennis to be roughnecks, guys who worked in the oil fields. All four had scruffy beards. Two were burly and broad-shouldered. One, whom Ennis heard addressed by his buddies as Orville, was uncommonly tall and fat. The fourth, whom someone called Leroy, seemed to Ennis to be uncommonly skinny for a roughneck. Neither Ennis nor Jack caught the names of the other two. Each was carrying at least one bottle of beer, and from all appearances these were not the first drinks the men had consumed that evening.

Annie had the roughnecks' table, too. After she put in the order for Ennis and Jack's salads, she distributed menus to the roughnecks, then recited the list of the evening's specials, though the men at the table were more interested in discussing the relative merits of Casper girls compared to women from Worland. After a few minutes, Annie brought Ennis and Jack their salads. Then she turned to the roughnecks. "What'll you have, fellers?" she said pleasantly. "I'll start with you, Honey!" the one called Orville responded. His three buddies laughed raucously. Jack heard the comment, caught Ennis's eye, grimaced, rolled his eyes. Ennis frowned and looked down at his salad. Annie ignored the comment, simply repeated her question. But her back stiffened. By the time she had finished taking down their profanity-laced dinner orders, Jack noticed that Ennis was glowering at the next table.

As Annie was serving Ennis and Jack their steaks, the roughneck called Leroy bawled out, "Hey, where's our dinners? Hurry it up, Sweetie, we're hungry!" Jack looked up at Annie. Her lips were pressed together tightly. She just perceptibly shook her head. Glancing around the room, Jack noticed that diners at other tables were frowning at the roughnecks, too. Their loud, beer-fueled comparison of the physical attributes of some of the women they had known did not make for a pleasant atmosphere in the dining room. Ennis concentrated on buttering his baked potato, but Jack thought he seemed to be breathing harder than usual.

The steaks, as always, were excellent. Sensing Ennis's annoyance at the group at the next table, Jack tried to make small talk about the ranch, but the roughnecks were so loud, telling their off-color jokes and laughing at their own juvenile humor, that he just about had to lean halfway across the table for Ennis to hear him without shouting. After he had to raise his voice just to ask Ennis to pass the steak sauce, he quit trying to hold a conversation. Ennis tried to concentrate on his dinner, but Jack noticed that he kept glancing at the next table. Then Annie brought the salads to the roughnecks. Ennis, a forkful of baked potato in hand, just happened to glace toward the next table as Annie stood next to the roughneck called Orville, balancing a tray with the four salads. "Here's your salads, boys," she said.

"'Bout time," Orville boomed. Then, as Ennis watched, almost as if in slow motion, Orville's hand shot out, and he grabbed Annie on the butt. Startled by the unexpected gesture, Annie gave a little shriek—and dropped the tray holding the salads. The tray and three of the salads crashed to the floor, crockery salad plates smashing. The fourth salad went all over Orville. While his three buddies whooped with laughter at his condition, ranch dressing and lettuce all over the front of his stained tee shirt, Orville didn't find the situation very amusing. "You cunt!" he bellowed at Annie, rising from his chair and brushing lettuce and onion off his dirty jeans.

That did it. Ennis's forkful of baked potato clattered forgotten to his plate. In an instant he was on his feet, one hand on Orville's shoulder. "Mister, I don't want no trouble," Ennis said loudly. "But you need to shut your slopbucket mouth until you know how to talk to a lady." Jack, gaping, was out of his seat in a flash, ready to back up Ennis if needed.

Orville turned on Ennis. He was at least a head taller than Ennis, who was by no means a short man. "What's it to you, asshole?" he snarled, brushing Ennis's hand off his shoulder. By now the dining room had gone deathly silent. Annie, who had stooped down to begin picking up the broken dishes and fallen greens, slowly stood up and backed away a few steps. Jack came around the table to stand next to Ennis.

"Ennis," Annie said, but Ennis ignored her.

"Around here we don't talk like that to a lady," Ennis said, looking hard at the big oil worker.

Meanwhile, a wave of silence slowly spread through the bar, as diners, drinkers, and pool players became aware of the confrontation in the dining room. Fearing serious trouble, Frankie, the bartender, sent Manny, the bar back, to get Pete Broughan from the office. Pete took in the situation at once. He watched intently but said nothing.

"You need to mind your own business, fucker," Orville snarled.

Ennis tensed even further. "And you need to learn how to talk decent to a lady," Ennis responded.

Orville looked Ennis up and down. "You think you can teach me?" he sneered.

"Maybe I can," said Ennis, his fists clenching.

Orville took a look at Jack, standing by Ennis's shoulder. His slightly beer-fogged mind calculated that he and his buddies made four, to the two cowpokes now confronting him. He leaned slightly toward Ennis. "You wanna take this outside?" he said. By now, Orville's three companions had also risen from their chairs, the humorous image of their buddy and ringleader covered with salad and dressing momentarily forgotten. Orville glanced briefly at his buddies, who all nodded slightly to him. As Ennis and Jack watched, the four roughnecks slowly filed out of the dining room, headed out the door.

"Jack?" said Ennis, turning to his partner.

"Ennis," was all Jack said in response, though he nodded his head slightly.

Ennis turned to Annie, who was still standing there watching, the dropped salads temporarily forgotten. "You keep them steaks warm, Annie," Ennis said. "We'll be right back." He turned and started slowly for the door. Jack followed. Right then, you could have heard a pin drop in the Silver Spur.

As Ennis and Jack walked determinedly through the bar and into the vestibule, Frankie turned to Pete Broughan. "You want I should call the sheriff?" he asked.

Pete didn't answer right away. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he watched Ennis and Jack step out the door. Then, "No," he said. "Let's just let this thing play itself out." At that, Frankie gave him a look, but he didn't contradict his boss.

To be Continued.


	3. Chapter 3

5

**All I Got and All I Want: Chapter 3**

By Zane Twist

It was dark when Ennis and Jack stepped outside the Silver Spur. The parking lot was not well lighted. At first, they saw no one. Then, to their right, there was the sound of a footstep on gravel, and the noise of someone clearing his throat. In unison Ennis and Jack turned to face the sound. It was Orville, the tall, fat roughneck, and one of his buddies was with him. Jack's jaw dropped and he touched Ennis's sleeve. Orville was holding a tire iron in his hand.

When he saw the tire iron, Ennis's eyes widened. Childhood memories of the murdered rancher Earl—and thoughts of his own recent nightmares—flooded his brain. Without waiting for Orville to make the first move, or without even thinking, Ennis launched himself on the oilfield worker. Ennis's right hook connected with Orville's nose; there was an audible and sickening crunching noise. Orville yelled in pain and raised both hands to his now bleeding nose. In the process, he dropped the tire iron, which clattered on the gravel of the parking lot. Ennis kicked the tire iron aside and followed up with a second punch that laid Orville out on his back, holding his broken nose and moaning.

Meanwhile, Jack sensed movement out of the corner of his left eye. It was Leroy, the uncommonly skinny roughneck. Before the man had a chance to aim a blow, Jack suddenly pivoted on his left foot and caught Leroy right where it mattered, between the legs, with the toe of his right boot. Leroy collapsed to his knees with a howl of pain. The kick wasn't exactly fair, but then guys who came to a fight armed with a tire iron weren't exactly playing by the Queensberry rules, either. Jack brought his right fist down on the top of the Leroy's head, sending him sprawling face down on the ground, effectively putting him out of commission.

While Jack was tending to Leroy, the burly roughneck who had been standing with Orville grabbed Ennis before he had time to recover from taking out Orville. He spun Ennis around, aiming his own right fist at Ennis's mouth. Fortunately, Ennis's muscular, supple body was made for fighting as well as for the horse, and his reflexes were uncommonly quick. He was able to dodge that fist, but before he could recover, the roughneck, with unexpected agility, landed a left that cut Ennis's lower lip. Probably as a result of the beer that was in him, the man then made the mistake of stopping to congratulate himself on his punch. Ennis, recovering and enraged, then caught him under the chin with a left jab that sent him staggering back against the right front fender of a rusty Ford pickup that was parked facing the front wall of the bar. The surprised roughneck's arms went back against the truck as he struggled to keep from losing his balance. Seeing Ennis coming at him with murder in his eye, and preferring to avoid the fate of his friend Orville, who was now sitting up but ignoring the fight as he moaned and held his nose, he scooted backward around the front of the Ford, barely out of the reach of Ennis's long, sinewy arms, then turned and fled into the darkness.

Ennis started to pursue the fleeing roughneck around the front of the pickup but hauled himself up short when he heard a yell from Jack. He turned. While Ennis's attention had been focused on Orville and his buddy, Jack had been concentrating on making sure that Leroy was out of the fight. They both seemed to have forgotten that there had been a fourth roughneck. That oil worker now seemingly came out of nowhere in the darkness of the parking lot. He grabbed Jack, spun him around, and landed a right that laid Jack out on the gravel and would soon raise a shiner under Jack's left eye. When the punch landed, Jack yelled, more in surprise than pain, and it was that yell that caught Ennis's attention. Ennis turned just in time to see Jack go down. Then, as Ennis watched, the roughneck noticed the tire iron, forgotten on the stones of the parking lot, and picked it up. He started for Jack. Ennis watched in horrified fascination as his nightmare seemed to come to life: Jack was in trouble. He had to help him. …

With Jack's left eye already swollen nearly shut, he almost didn't see the tire iron coming until it was too late. Somehow, at the last moment, Jack managed to avoid the blow, rolling out of the way a split second before the tire iron hit the ground where his head had been. And then Ennis hurled himself at the roughneck. "N-o-o-o-!" Ennis screamed. He cleared the distance between the old Ford and the roughneck in three strides and launched himself onto the man like an eagle on a rabbit. His full weight hit the roughneck in the middle of his back and knocked the wind out of him; he went down with a grunt, dropping the tire iron. Ennis landed on top of him. With a rage fueled by the remembered fear of his nightmare, Ennis pounded with his fists on the man's back unmercifully. And then Jack, who had gotten to his feet after Ennis landed on his assailant, was pulling Ennis off the roughneck, yelling, "Ennis! Ennis! Don't kill the sonofabitch!"

Ennis stopped his pounding. He slowly got to his feet. Panting and sweating and shaking all at once, he looked at Jack. His throat felt tight. "Jack?" he croaked. "You all right?"

"I been better," Jack replied, gingerly touching the swollen flesh beneath his left eye. He stooped down, picked up his hat, which had fallen off when he hit the ground, and brushed some of the dust off the battered old Resistol while Ennis's breathing returned to normal and his heart stopped pounding. Ennis held his shirt cuff against his cut lip and pushed to stop the bleeding.

Glancing around with a slightly puzzled look on his face, Ennis said, "Where's my hat?" Jack pointed to it, lying where it had fallen when Ennis had flung himself on the roughneck. Ennis picked up the hat. He had just put it on his head when he noticed the tire iron, on the ground where the roughneck had dropped it when Ennis landed on him. Ennis looked at Jack, and then he looked again at the tire iron, and then he picked up the tire iron. He held it in both hands as he and Jack watched as the three remaining roughnecks slowly roused themselves, got up off the ground groaning, climbed into the rusty Ford pickup without looking at Ennis and Jack, backed the Ford out of its parking place, the box toward Ennis and Jack, and drove off in it like a dog skulking away with its tail between its legs.

Ennis looked at Jack. "Let's go finish those steaks, bud," he said.

"Right," said Jack. Side by side, they walked back into the Silver Spur. Ennis took the tire iron with him.

You could have heard a pin drop when they walked back into the bar. The place went from subdued quiet to dead silence—everyone had seen the confrontation and was wondering what was happening outside in the parking lot. Annie Price, who had just finished cleaning up the mess of spilled food and broken dishes with the help of one of the busboys, saw them walk in, stood by their table, hands on hips, grinning from ear to ear. Ennis and Jack calmly sat down in their places, Ennis propping the tire iron against the table. Ennis glanced into his coffee mug, looked at Annie, said calmly and quietly, "More coffee, please, Annie?" As if he'd just come back from the bathroom instead of from a deadly serious fight in the parking lot.

"Sure enough," Annie replied with a grin, clapping Ennis on the shoulder. "Comin' right up!" She headed to the side of the room, where the coffee makers stood on an old dark-oak sideboard, to fetch a fresh pot.

Back at the bar, Frankie pulled two longnecks out of the cooler, opened them, handed them to Manny the bar back. Pointing with his chin toward Ennis and Jack's table, he said to Manny, "Here. Take 'em these." Then he turned to old Pete Broughan, who, as curious as the next person as to the outcome of the fight, had not returned to the office. Frankie gave the bar owner a look, added, "They're on the house."

When Manny came back from delivering the beer, Pete Broughan sent him out to check the parking lot for the four roughnecks. "No sign of 'em," Manny reported, when he came back into the bar.

"Hunh," said Pete Broughan. "How 'bout that. Twic't their number." He turned to Frankie, chuckling a little. "Those two boys over yonder are drinkin' on the house for the rest of the night, you hear? And tell Annie those steaks are on the house, too."

"You bet!" Frankie laughed. Pete went back into the office, shaking his head in wonderment, chuckling a little. Those two boys from the old Barkley place might be queer, he thought to himself, but they sure as hell wasn't pansies.

If they hadn't been careful, Ennis and Jack would have gotten too seriously drunk to drive home. Aside from the beer on the house, a number of folks insisted on buying them shots of whiskey as well. They admired that the two young cowboys from the Barkley place had kicked the shit out of twice their number in roughnecks (by morning the story would be all over Signal), and never mind if they really were queer. But Annie kept the coffee coming, so they managed to keep their heads, and Frankie sent ice wrapped in clean bar towels for Jack's black eye and Ennis's cut lip. When they finally couldn't swallow another drop of coffee or beer and rose to leave, Ennis remembering to pick up the tire iron, Annie came over, took Ennis and Jack both by the sleeve. "Thanks, fellers," she said quietly. "I really 'preciate what you done this evenin'. Whatever you did, them shitheads deserved it. You come back here any time you want, there's always a table for you. You're always welcome."

"Thank you, ma'am," Ennis and Jack both murmured in response. Touching their hat brims, they quietly left the bar, followed by admiring glances from customers in both the dining room and the bar.

The drive home was silent. Ennis drove because Jack's black eye was swollen nearly shut. They said nothing when they finally entered the house. Then they both knew where they needed to go, what they needed to do. They went right to the bedroom. While Jack opened the window, Ennis turned on one dim light, on the dresser.

They hadn't made the bed that morning, so the bedclothes were as rumpled as they had been when they got up that day. They stood facing each other silently by the bed for some moments. Jack reached up and started to unbutton his shirt, but Ennis suddenly stepped forward and seized Jack's wrists. He lowered Jack's wrists to his sides. Then he began to unbutton Jack's shirt, slowly, button by button, revealing the smooth, sculpted chest beneath the fabric. After he undid the last button, Ennis pulled Jack's shirt out of the waistband of Jack's jeans. Then he stepped back.

Taking the hint, Jack, in turn slowly unbuttoned Ennis's shirt while Ennis stood still with his hands at his sides. After he opened the final button, Jack pulled the shirt from the waistband of Ennis's jeans. He pushed the shirt off Ennis's shoulders. The shirt slid down Ennis's back and arms and crumpled to the floor. Ennis then repeated the motion, pushing Jack's shirt off his shoulders.

Again they stood facing each other, silently, for several moments, shirtless, their chests gleaming with perspiration. Jack licked his lips as he stepped closer to Ennis, reached up slowly, took Ennis's face into his hands, and, mindful of Ennis's cut lip, gently brought Ennis's lips to his own. But Ennis didn't want gentle. Not just now. The memory of seeing that tire iron hit the ground where Jack's head had been a split second before, the horror of it, was too fresh, too raw. Ennis wanted it—needed it—fierce and hard and long. And Jack, who never wanted anything more than to lose himself in Ennis and their love making, was glad to let him do what he wanted. With a desperate, adrenaline-fueled passion, Ennis pulled Jack's lips to his own. They came together as hard and as desperately and as fiercely as at their reunion back in '67, four years after their summer on Brokeback Mountain. …

Three hours later, finally exhausted, sated, spent, sweat drying on naked bodies, postcoital cigarettes stubbed out in the ashtray on the nightstand, they lay together quietly, Jack cradled in the crook of Ennis's arm. As they drifted toward sleep, Jack murmured, "Ennis?"

"Hunh?'

"No more bad dreams?"

Ennis smiled up into the darkness, hugged Jack close. "No more bad dreams," he said.

By the next morning, the tale of Ennis and Jack's encounter with the four roughnecks was all over Signal. Of course the tale got embroidered slightly as it was passed from hand to hand. No one seemed to remember—or care—that the four roughnecks had been considerably liquored up when they took it outside with Ennis and Jack. All anyone seemed to care about was that Ennis and Jack, those two reputed queer boys living on the old Barkley spread, had put the fear of God into twice their number of big, burly roughnecks. And folks were mightily impressed.

After thinking about it for a couple of days, Ennis put the tire iron on the fireplace mantle in the main room of the old log cabin ranch house, where it remained for years on years, a memorial and a trophy of the Saturday night of Labor Day weekend, 1971. And the next time Ennis went into Sorenson's to pay the feed bill, nobody laughed behind his back.

(The End)


End file.
